


breathe breathe breathe

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's three a.m. and Josh wants to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe breathe breathe

It was happening again.

It was late and his head was buzzing and did I mention that it was _happening again?_

And Josh knew that there was no reason for this. He was overreacting, dramatizing. He was being irrational, he was being weak, he was being fucking _ridiculous_.

And yet, no matter how many nasty names he called himself, no matter how much he told himself that this was all just so so _stupid_ , no amount of self-hatred could change the fact that he wanted to die. So. Fucking. Badly.

Because it was three a.m. and his stomach was just a place where nausea lived, swamping his insides and making him want to throw up all over the goddamn bed. Because he was gross. He was so gross and overdramatic and there was no _need_ for this.

But there he was, laying wide awake at three in the morning, stomach sick and brain sick and, dear god, he was just so fucking _sick_.

And he wished this was the type of sick where you coughed and sniffled for a couple of days but then it just went away. But it wasn't. 

This was a different kind of sickness, one that didn't come from not dressing warm enough for the winter, one that couldn't be struck down by over-the-counter medicine and plenty of rest. No, this wasn't so simple, was it? This was a sour stomach and a buzzing head and the _thumpthumpthumpthump_ of his own strung out heart in his ears, hellbent on breaking free from his chest and running out of the room.

Because surely it was sick and tired of having to pound so fast all the time. Surely it was through with being directly connected to a brain that only ran on nonstop terror- terror over the little things, terror over the big things, terror over _everything_.

So, yeah, Josh really couldn't blame his heart for wanting to get away from him. The damn thing kept him alive, and _this_ is how he repaid it? By being afraid day and night? By making it operate like a locomotive with no brakes? 

In fact, he had apologies to issue to a lot of his insides: he wanted to tell his stomach sorry for feeling like he wanted to throw up all the time. He wanted to tell his lungs sorry for all of the times he had forgotten how to breathe. He wanted to tell his throat sorry because it always felt so tight. Like he was suffocating.

And he wanted to tell his brain "fuck you" for making everyone else suffer so much.

So he was laying there in bed, sheets strewn at his feet because he was too sweaty and sick and gross to keep them on, staring up at a dark ceiling with eyes that ached for sleep he was too wired to achieve; beside him, Tyler moved ever-so-slightly.

And then there were arms wrapping around him, holding him so close and snug and secure. Arms that snaked around his bare middle and just _held_ him. Anchored him, as if he was a boat that had drifted out too far on waves of terror.

And there was Tyler, half-asleep but still ready to bring him back to shore.

"M'right here, baby. Just breathe for me. Gotta breathe, okay?"

So it was three a.m. and Josh, with his sick stomach and dysfunctional lungs and tight throat and buzzing brain, breathed in slowly. Let his chest fill up with kinder air. And then he closed his eyes and breathed out, savoring how the oxygen took its sweet time leaving his lungs. 

He repeated this process a couple of times, Tyler sweetly nuzzling his shoulder and humming honeyed words in his ear all the while.

"That's it, baby boy. Just breathe for me, okay? S'all you gotta do. Just breathe."

And Josh breathed. He laid there with his eyes shut and his boyfriend's arms holding him blissfully close and just _breathed_.

Sleepy. He didn't even realize he was getting so _sleepy_ ; the buzzing was getting hazier, the blood wasn't screaming in his ears, the sickness was no longer plunging all of his insides into _"I'm gonna throw up."_

Everything was getting slower, gentler, lighter. 

Then Tyler's candied lips were pressing against his shoulder and purring into his skin, "Goodnight, lovely. Just sleep, okay? You're safe here. I promise."

So Josh slept.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so a nxiouszf i wwnna die


End file.
